It was pretty phoney of us, if you really want to know what I think.
I found a copy of Catcher lying around and started reading it again a few days ago. It’s only the second time I’ve read it (the first being the obligatory high school read) and, maybe happily, I feel about the same about it. Except I forgot how hilarious it is!
What a school. You were always watching somebody cut their damn toenails or squeeze their pimples or something.
Old Marty was like dragging the Statue of Liberty around the floor. [About dancing with one of the three “grools” from Seattle.]
The cab I had was a real old one that smellled like someone’d tossed his cookies in it.
His name was Commander Blop or something. He was one of those guys that think they’re being a pansy if they don’t break around forty of your fingers when they shake hands with you.
I figured if she was a prostitute and all, I could get in some practice on her, in case I ever got married or anything.
On bad movies: All I can say is, don’t see it if you don’t want to puke all over yourself.
It took me about an hour to just get her goddamn brassiere off. By the time I did get it off, she was about ready to spit in my eye.